


The Start of Something Bad

by Cypher_DS



Category: Huniepop & Huniecam (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Enemies to Friends, Female Friendship, Gen, Goths, It's like too much emotion for you to ever understand!, So much emotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 21:56:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cypher_DS/pseuds/Cypher_DS
Summary: Lillian Aurawell's preppy high school like, totally sucks balls but she endures by scribbling down the darkest and deepest of teenage poetry. When Lilli's edgiest masterpiece is vandalized by a certain Japanese girl, you can bet that Glenberry's Goth queen is going to exact her revenge. But is there more to this Aiko chick than meets the eye?





	The Start of Something Bad

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was commissioned by Farndee Addam, who writes a HuniePop AU where Aiko and Lillian are the same age and members of a long-running punk rock band. The request was to write a "first meeting" story between these two girls. Enjoy!

“Fuck you, bitch!  Like you know anything about me!”

Lillian storms out of the school library with a face full of rage and a mind full of purpose.  She’s an artist, dammit, and nothing gets her juices flowing – her _creative juices_ , you sick fuck – like a raw, unfiltered argument with the bitches this school dares call students.

The black felt marker flicks into her palm like a switchblade.  Every artist has their medium – Robert Smith has his raging guitar, Dave Vanian has his screaming lyrics and even that wannabe Goth, Amy Lee has fashion to fill out her lack of talent.

Lillian Aurawell has the stalls of the girl’s washroom, the perfect location to bare the banshee screams of her tortured soul.  She’s still reminiscing on her last magnum opus, a masterpiece fusion of poetry and pain:

_Roses are black.  Black as your words._

A little crude, sampling from a children’s rhyme, but her remix had been pure genius.

_Violets are black. Black as your heart._

Subtle repetition – the key to any effective art piece.  And all successful epics came in trilogies:

_Sugar is black. Black as your soul._

And then the coup de grace – the final line.  Lillian isn’t just an artist, she’s an activist, and every woman with a message to shout blends her politics with her poetics.  Lillian’s message had been simple but effective:

_Audrey Belrose is a big, fat bitch and she can burn in hell and die!_

Lillian pushes her way into the second floor washroom, ready to create. In an artistic frenzy she kicks down the door of the corner stall, all set to write verse two - a mash-up of Belrose’s signature red and vile, green vomit. 

Instead she pauses.

 And then she loses her shit.

“Who the fuck wrote over my stuff!?”

* * *

There’s no crueler sight than the black ‘X’s over Lillian’s words, no horror more abominable than the foreign printing added above and beside each defaced word. 

Lillian can’t believe it.  Her graffiti has been vandalized!

“Oh, that was yours?” 

Lillian spins around and stares down a mousy Asian girl who’s been washing her hands the whole time.  Her hair is shoulder-length and frizzy, her glasses are black-rimmed and thick, and when she speaks, she sucks her air through braces like silver railroad tracks.  _Still got food in them,_ Lillian winces.  She immediately dismisses this girl as a ‘loser’ but she seems to have info.

“Yes that was like, _my_ poetry.  You see who did this shit?”

“Yeah, that was me.”

Lillian just blinks, not quite sure what’s she’s hearing.  “Like, who the hell are you?”

“Oh, I’m Aiko and yeah, I didn’t wanna say anything but there were all sorts of spelling errors.  You kept saying everything was ‘blake’, and I kinda didn’t think you were talking about that third year guy in biology so … umm….”

The girl trails off into mumbles, realizing for the first time just how pants-shittingly furious Lillian looks right now.  This girl is either totally ballsy or harboring a death wish. 

“You think you’re so god-damn clever, don’t you?”

“Sorry, I was just trying to help…”

“Well you didn’t!  Oh, and FYI? You keep dressing like that and I’m gonna have t’like, kick the shit out of you.”

“Kick the …?”  Aiko glances down at her apparel – a black, sleeveless top with striped arm warmers, a layered black skirt and full-length fishnets.  “But, but I like these clothes.  They’re radical!”

Oh shut the front door, did she actually say ‘radical’??! 

“They’re not _radical_ , they’re _Goth!_ And you’re like, totally not edgy enough to wear black!  You keep that shit up and everyone’ll start thinking I’m as big a dork as you!”

“Geez, sorry.”

“ _Geez, sorry,_ ” Lillian mimics.  “You poser!  Like, pack up your shitty sorries and go back to Kuala Lumpur, you Ching-Chong-China doll!”

The chick has the gall to look offended.  “Okay, first – I’m Japanese, and second, Kuala Lumpur is in Malay- … y’know what, never mind.”  She turns and leaves.  Lillian flashes a victorious smirk.

“Yeah, you’d better run, bitch!”  She’s won!

So why doesn’t she feel any satisfaction?

* * *

All day long, Lillian’s brow twitches angrily with thoughts of Aiko.

The nerve of that dork – first she tags her poetry with all this ‘grammar graffiti’, then she dresses herself up in Lillian’s signature black punk fashion like it’s nothing but a Halloween costume!  She’s a poser, that’s what!  Pretending she has problems to cry about, like anyone could come close to matching the pain Lillian suffers, the daily agony that can only be expressed through black!  _You don’t know what it’s like to live with my shitty family. No one knows!_

A maternal knock on the bedroom door interrupts her brooding. 

“Lilli?  There’s my angel baby!  I made you your favorite cocoa and it’s got marshmallows!”

Lillian howls like she’s a cat and someone’s yanked on her tail.  “Ugh!  Really, Ma?  Why don’t you just give me a cup of lard, it’ll make me fat and ugly a whole lot faster!”

When her mom leaves – pecking her on the cheek like she’s a little baby – Lillian does eventually drink the cocoa.  She’s not gonna pour it down the sink and wreck the environment and shit.

She does make a point of slurping loudly.  To show her mom, of course.

* * *

Lillian usually wakes up groggy, but the next morning she’s alert with purpose: _that Aiko bitch needs a taste of her own medicine._ Who better to shove the jagged little pill down the Asian chick’s throat then the queen of bad vibes, Lillian Aurawell?

It’s early morning and the school hallways are still deserted.  Lillian holds her felt marker at the ready as she stomps towards the art room.  The door opens easily.  Mr. Dressler _always_ forgets to lock the classroom.

Once inside, it doesn’t take long to pull Aiko’s sketchbook off the shelf.  _Let’s see how you like having your art defaced!_

She opens to a random page, ready to “paint it black”.

Instead she pauses.

And then she loses her shit.

“Holy fuck this is … good!”

The page she’s flipped to features a harsh, pencil crayon sketch of Aiko’s face, and shit is intense! The left half is all blue and wounded, the right half is all red and ferocious and the lines are rough and jagged, speaking to the intense rage that fueled this self-loathing sketch.  The expression on that face!  The eyes seem to be crying blood, the mouth is twisted with pain. It’s like staring down a torture victim, and Lillian finds herself flinching!

 _Holy shit!_ The pain … the agony … This isn’t just angst, this is “crawling through my skin” levels of edginess!  This is DEEP!

Lillian claps the book shut. 

She can’t find Aiko fast enough. 

* * *

“Bitch, you badass!”

“Huh?”  The Asian girl blinks dumbly as if to say ‘who, me?’  She’s in the girl’s washroom again, trying to floss between her braces.  Lillian gets right to the point. 

“Look, kid – I was like, totally wrong.  You’re legit!  We totally need to chill.  What’re you doing for lunch?”

“M-me?  Oh, I kinda just eat by myself.”

“Well forget that shit.  You’re eating with me today.  Hey, you smoke?”

“What, no!”

“Well, first taste’s on me.”

Before she can object, Lillian has her arm around Aiko’s shoulder, leading her to the alley behind the school for her morning cigarette.

She’s got a good feeling that this is the start of something _bad!_


End file.
